


Blood

by GangstaCrow



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Half-Siblings, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Servants, Undercover Castle Guard AU, but this one ends better I swear, it's back, that's right ya'll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-02 23:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GangstaCrow/pseuds/GangstaCrow
Summary: You'll never be my brother.And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? Because it doesn't matter if their blood is the same, if they have the same father. Tooru has the right mother, and Kentarou has none at all.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> New year new me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo what's this

_The slick marble floors seem to glitter under the brilliant chandeliers lighting the halls. There is little stirring save for the occasional chatter of servants and wandering staff, maids escaping to their quarters and guards going about their rounds. Though quite frankly, Kentarou's too worried about keeping himself upright to be listening to whatever is being said. They shouldn't even be doing this. He's been told numerous times that this he isn’t allowed to be there unless he's with an adult. No exceptions._

_Not even for the over-eager prince._

_Kentarou doesn't understand why he never listens. Surely he must get tired of being scolded for his disobedience. But whenever somebody says you can't, Tooru always says I will, which is proven by the way he's currently dragging Kentarou out the door of the east wing and down the stairs to the undercroft. Even now, as Kentarou tries to keep them from moving forward, his sandaled feet do little to deter the boy pulling his wrist. He's older, taller, and slightly stronger, which is all it takes to trap Kentarou in an inescapable situation._

_Tooru's wearing fancy clothes- a jacket lined with suede and a perfectly pressed collared shirt. He's obviously been to another party. There seem to be a lot of them lately. Meanwhile, Kentarou's dressed in shorts and a thin shirt for bed, so while he won't be punished for getting dirty, being pulled out of the servants quarters is still disobeying Mama Xiao._

_But he supposes peeling potatoes as punishment is objectively better than anything_ she _gives him._

_Just thinking about what she'll do to him makes his blood turn to ice and sends a shiver down his spine. He returns his attention to Tooru, close to begging when he whispers frantically, “Let's go back. I'm gonna get yelled at.”_

_Tooru doesn't hear him. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Either way, he continues walking them down the thin corridor until they reach the door to the kennels. The smell of wet dog and meat is strong, and through the gaps in the door Kentarou can hear alert growling and faint whining. Tooru drops his wrist in order to open the door, but he can tell from the loud bang it makes when it slams shut that it's heavier than it looks. Kentarou moves forward to help against his better judgement so Tooru doesn't tear his dress coat._

_He doesn't know why he's even wearing it. It's the middle of summer. Kentarou will never understand the wardrobe decisions of nobility._

_Together, they pry open the door and hold it just long enough for both of them to squeeze through before easing it shut. It stinks of urine and feces, which seems unbefitting of the purebred hounds they have here, but nobody ever listens to Kentarou. Or Tachi-san. But Kentarou won't have to worry about a lecture as long as he doesn't track anything inside with his sandals, though there’s definitely no going back for Tooru._

_He glances at him. Pressed pants. Polished black shoes. Hair done up and shining._

_Tooru’s going to get in trouble. Again._

_Kentarou tries to warn him. Again._

_“We can't be here. We're gonna get in trouble.”_

_Tooru finally looks him in the eye._

_It's… weird._

_Their eyes are definitely different, but whenever he looks at Tooru, Kentarou sees… himself. He isn’t sure how to put it into words, but there’s an unmistakable familiarity when he thinks back to when he looks in the mirror and when he’s face-to-face with Tooru. He shouldn't be surprised, though he finds he can't get used to it, especially since their actions differ so greatly._

_Tooru is completely unaware of the smell. He can barely stop his shaking as he grins at Kentarou, grabbing his hand and guiding him further into the kennels. The hounds recognize Tooru and quiet down, yet Kentarou still finds himself scared of them. Mama Xiao says that the hounds grow up loving Tooru and she warms Kentarou to never play with him when they’re nearby. She said she doesn't know what they would do if he accidentally got hurt when they were playing together, and Kentarou had become scared when he realized he hadn't known either._

_And it’s not as though Tooru getting hurt when they’re playing is something rare. He’s always jumping off stuff. Always trying to climb statues. Always getting bruises. Always getting Kentarou punished. But he doesn't mind, not really._

_Not always. Only sometimes, if she finds them, because then the punishments become a lot worse._

_Tooru drags them to a large open pen and all of Kentarou's reservations instantly vanish._

_A female hound eyes them groggily, recognition of Tooru- and miraculously, Kentarou- allowing her to let her guard down enough for them to step into the pen._

_Tooru turns to him them, eyes shining with joy as he squeals, “Look! Puppies!”_

_There are nine tiny pups tripping over themselves and their mother's legs in their haste to get to Tooru, who albut dives into the middle of the pen to play with them, curious yips filling the air. Kentarou has never seen so many pups in one place before. He's not allowed to look at them or feed them or touch them in case they take to him more than they do Tooru, though he finds he wants at least one of them to. He's seen how happy Tooru gets when the hounds crowd him and lick his cheeks, and he wants that too._

_Tooru's fawning over the pups with so much fervor Kentarou feels embarrassed watching, turning away skittishly, eyes flickering uneasily as he grumbles, “I'm sleepy. Let's go back,” Another feeble attempt to drag Tooru way._

_Tooru ignores him._

_Kentarou gives up._

_As his shoulders slump in defeat, Tooru looks up, eyes locked on him and hand ecstatically waving him forward. Kentarou steps in cautiously, gaze flicking uneasily to the mother. She is awake, watching them with such strong focus that it makes Kentarou uncomfortable, like he’s doing something wrong. When she makes no move to stand up, he slowly make his way further into the pen, careful to avoid stepping on the hyperactive pups. The mother looks on with fierce protectiveness for her young, and whether she considers Tooru one of them or not is something he'd rather not find out. Kentarou makes sure to sit a fair distance away from Tooru should anything happen. Tooru doesn't acknowledge this, busy trying to coax a pup into his lap._

_He sends Kentarou a blinding ray of pearly white teeth, “I promised I'd show you remember? Without Mama trying to make me do my lessons?”_

_Kentarou has no idea what to say to that, because he truly forgot such promise ever being made. All he does is blurt out his earlier objections in the hopes Tooru doesn't notice, “We’re gonna get in trouble.”_

_Tooru only seems to brighten at this. “No we're not. I'm here, so it's fine. We can play as long as we want!”_

_The mother startles at Tooru’s sudden exclamation, snapping her gaze toward him on full alert. The pups have no idea what's going on around them, attention exclusively on their mother, each other, and Tooru. Kentarou purposefully sat too far away to make any sort of contact with them, yet he finds he regrets it. While Tooru continues gushing, Kentarou experimentally scoots closer. No reaction. Closer. No reaction. Kentarou scoots opposite Tooru, and again, no reaction._

_One of the pups- the smallest, slowest one- turns away from the crowd in front of Tooru, away from their brothers and sisters, to clumsily run at Kentarou. Obviously Kentarou doesn't expect it, so he's extremely hesitant to touch the pup, who doesn't seem to care and haphazardly tries to crawl into his lap. They slip the first few times. Kentarou has to stay completely still for them to be able to crawl in successfully, and he begins to wonder who they are. Do they have a name? How old are they? What are they thinking about? Who do they think he is to be running at him when someone like Tooru is less than a foot away? Are they boy or gi-_

_“The girls are nicer you know! Tachi-san says they love you faster and a lot more fiercely than the boys most of the time, but I don't really get the last part.”_

_Kentarou starts to say something, but Tooru just keeps mouthing off as he tries to pet all the pups simultaneously while saying a million things at a the same time._

_Kentarou doesn't know how long they sit there. The thin beams of light that were streaming in through the grates level with the ground outside have disappeared, so it's definitely past their bedtime. Tooru says nothing about it, and Kentarou tricks himself into believing this is okay for tonight. He listens as Tooru discusses his lessons, of foreign lands with dense forests filled with strange animals, harsh deserts that stretch on for days, deep snow that can bury houses, and silver mines that send dust flying on every gust of wind. Tooru promises to bring him pastries and cakes from the kitchen the next time they have time to eat together, and Kentarou looks forward to it so much that he conveniently forgets Mama Xiao already gives him leftover desserts at the end of the day._

_They're both getting tired. All of the pups have retreated to their mother's warmth, sleeping in a heap at her side as she continues to eye the two boys. Kentarou, as reluctant as he was to come here, finds he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't get to spend much time with Tooru since he's in court with the nobles or in lessons with tutors or doing other stuff. They don't get to play together anymore._

_It's lonely._

_Tooru stands, offering a hand to help Kentarou. He takes it. “We can come back tomorrow to play with them again.”_

_Kentarou nods, and before anything can go wrong, he feels himself smile back. “Okay.”_

_Then it does._

_When they head to the door leading out of the kennels, hand-in-hand with Tooru leading the way as per usual, they are met with guards and Tachi-san and Mama Xiao and_ her _._

_They have nowhere to go. No escape._

_She's beautiful. She has to be given who she is. Her teal gown gives the impression that she's floating with how flowy it is against the concrete flooring of the undercroft._

_“Tooru.”_

_He freezes. Kentarou yanks his hand away from the older boy before she notices the contact._

_The woman's face is set in a frown. Nothing too harsh, yet nothing to take lightly. “What do you think you're doing?” She's mad. She always is when Kentarou sees her, though whether that's because of himself or Tooru, he doesn't know._

_Tooru nervously kicks at the floor, eyes downcast and smile wavering as he chirps, “Nothing.”_

_She crosses her arms. Her nails are sharp. “Tooru”_

_All it takes is another moment of staring at the floor for Tooru to mumble, “We were just looking. We didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_She isn’t pleased. “Yes you did. You know better than anyone else that you can’t be down here alone. The door is locked for a reason, and just because it wasn't this once,” Her eyes ease over to Tachi-san as she speaks. The man’s caramel skin seems to dull a shade, “Doesn't mean you can go inside.”_

_“Y-Yes. Your Majesty is exactly right. This door is locked to keep you safe unless somebody’s down here with you,” Even as he addresses Tooru in a calm yet firm manner, Kentarou can still see how he’s trembling and the guards are smirking in a way that makes his skin crawl._

_Tooru’s shoulders sag as he finally steps through the door of the kennel. Kentarou can feel his absence at his side. “Sorry.”_

_She breathes out, and although the tension in her shoulders is as it always is, she smiles faintly at Tooru, “No harm done this time, but don’t let it happen again. Now, off to bed with you. I’ll be up in a minute.”_

_Kentarou watches as Tooru trudges away with Mama Xiao, sparing a sympathetic glance over his shoulder as they walk down the hall. The guards follow Tachi-san into the kennel as they push past Kentarou, sending him stumbling forward as the door slams shut. The sound makes him jump._

_She’s still in the way._

_She’s frowning at him down her nose. Kentarou already feels small given his age, so standing in front of her makes him feel like a flea. She sighs. Deep, tired, as though Kentarou’s disappointed and drained her beyond repair. What does she have to be disappointed by? He hasn’t done anything to her. But he has, he knows he has, he_ has _to have done something if Tooru gets in trouble around him. Though if it were such an issue then she should take that up with Tooru, not him._

_But everybody loves Tooru and nobody thinks anything is his fault, because he’s only a child who doesn’t know any better._

_She forgets that Kentarou is younger than Tooru. So does Kentarou._

_“You know you’re not supposed to be here. You should’ve taken Tooru to his room and went straight to bed.”_

_He doesn’t like this. It’s not his fault. “Tooru wanted to see the dogs.”_

_She drags a hand down her face, “Tooru’s different. He’s… special.”_

_He hates her._

_Kentarou stares defiantly into her eyes, mustering up all the courage he can as he barks, “I'm special too.”_

_Her jaw clenches. Her face hardens, expression guarded with cold, cold eyes. She’s mad. He said the wrong thing._

_Then again, nothing he says seems to be right when it comes to her, so what does it matter?_

_“No, you aren't. And you never will be.”_

_That ends that._

_They don’t go visit the pups the next day._

_Or the next day. Or the rest of the week. Or the rest of the month._

_Instead, Tooru spends his time studying with tutors, attending parties, and sitting in court beside his mother and the king, who never acknowledges Kentarou's presence in the palace._

_Kentarou doesn't have time to form an opinion on that, because he's exactly where he's expected to be, helping Mama Xiao and the other cooks prepare dinner every night by peeling potatoes and a bunch of other vegetables Kentarou isn't even sure grow in the kingdom. His hands ache from holding the peeler for hours on end, but he doesn't dare complain. He wakes up, does as he's told, and stays away from the prying eyes of the queen._

_The exact opposite of Tooru._

_It seems the prince can't go a day without causing some new wave of gossip to erupt. Good or bad, he manages to stay the center of attention. Tooru's teasing that Iwaizumi kid again. Tooru made a noble’s son cry. Tooru's managed to memorize the music for one of Kanade’s five symphonies on the piano. Tooru threw a tantrum when his mother was tucking him in._

_Kentarou doesn't really care. He doesn't have time to, not when there's so much work to be done. Sometimes he helps Ryo-san mop and wax the halls, sometimes he helps Hayato-san water every single poinsettia bush in the gardens. He does anything and everything. He does more chores in the three months he doesn't see Tooru than he has most of his life._

_But he still forces himself to be angry with Tooru, because there isn't anyone else he can be mad at who will care._

_He trudges to the kitchen at dawn everyday, sits in the same chair, feels his posture correct itself from how long he sits there, and goes to bed. He wills himself to frown at every mention of the other boy, but given Tachi-san's offhanded comments, Tooru's been going to court without a care in the world. Kentarou's given up on calling people on their lies and simply shrugs, scrubbing at the grime of the wall with a renewed vigor._

_Kentarou's on his way back to his room after this, hears the laughter of guards through the walls and drunken slurring of nobles in parlor rooms, when he's stopped by Mama Xiao._

_Her eyes bleed sympathy as she takes his hand, and Kentarou has learned to take comfort in the cold, because it's all he knows, “There's one more thing you have to do before bed, little one.”_

This is the worst.

_He's cleaning. It's not a parlor room, or the dining room, or the throne room. It's so, so much worse._

_It's Tooru's playroom._

_Mama Xiao makes it a point to tell Kentarou not to waste time playing around as he's putting everything away. She doesn't want him to stay awake breaking things when he's supposed to be sleeping. If Kentarou were as stupid as he'd been three months ago, he'd tell Mama Xiao to tell Tooru's mom to make him clean up after himself so seven year old servants wouldn't have to worry about breaking anything he thought was important. But he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't comment._

_Mama Xiao watches him for all of three minutes before leaving him on his own with a yawn._

_Alone in a room filled with toys worth more than his life, Kentarou lets the tears he's held at bay glide down his cheeks. He clenches the model train he holds in his hands, thinks of smashing it, but can't justify the pain of the whip being worth it._

_He thinks of dense forests, vast deserts, and uninhabitable snowstorms. Thinks of men and women living so far away that their existence holds no bearing on anyone else, how their passing will never be known._

_Then he thinks of himself, and drags his fingernails down his wrist. They're far too short to leave a mark._

_The work is monotonous. Placing picture books in piles, returning sets of toy soldiers to their boxes, putting stuffed animals into baskets. He spots a stuffed wolf, remembers the son of the king's personal guard, and barely suppresses the urge to rip its head off._

_His movements come to a halt when he reaches a set of dominoes._

_They're nothing too special, just a silver tin with intricately designed vines and the royal sigil in the middle._

_Tooru has four sets of the exact same set._

_Kentarou has never had something this nice before. His fingers itch._

_He allows himself to be selfish this time and this time alone. As he slides the set into the pocket of his shorts, he allows himself to take the barest hints of satisfaction from the last act of freedom he will ever partake in._

_He quickens his efforts to finish the work before the guards get tempted to check on him. He walks to the doorway, switches off the light, and hastily exits the room._

_His walk down the halls are agonizingly slow. Kentarou knows he needs to hurry or he'll be scolded for loitering, but he can't let anybody hear the faint clinks coming from his pocket. Thankfully, most of the staff littering the halls are too preoccupied with their own responsibilities to care too much about him._

_He rounds the corner to make one final sprint to the servants quarters in the West Wing and slams into someone. When he hits the floor, the clinks are undeniably loud. He tenses as he looks up, eyes wide in fear before he sees who he has to explain himself to._

_It's Tooru._

_Kentarou imagines himself running away before Tooru's mother can say anything to him. He pictures screaming and pouncing on Tooru, hands flailing and fingers clawing and heart hurting while awaiting an apology that will never come and the lullaby of a woman whose face he cannot recall._

_What he does not picture himself doing is taking the hand of a boy born with a gilded spoon in his mouth, getting pulled to his feets, and casting his eyes to the floor in shame._

_His pocket jingled when he fell. They both heard it echo down the hall._

_Tooru doesn't yell at him though. He waits silently until Kentarou raises his gaze from the floor. Then he smiles._

_It's breathtaking really, the way Tooru's eyes light up with wordless apologies and dreams of an impossible future, playing games in a room normally filled to the brim with false promises and empty praises. It's wide and unbridled, genuine with honesty Kentarou has only been awarded once in his life only to find it would have been better to stay an ignorant child._

_“Can I see the box?” The request isn't accusatory or judgmental._

_Kentarou hesitantly slides the case from his pocket. In this light, he can see the true intricacies of the sigil, the gemstones placed on the tip of each leaf on every vine. Realization barrels into him._

_He could die for taking this. He's only just realized who gave this to Tooru._

_But he doesn't take the box back. No, Tooru takes Kentarou's hands in his own and wraps them around the box firmly. “I know I get you in trouble a lot,” He sounds so shameful, so ashamed of the state of his birth that Kentarou wants to kick him, “But I still wanna be friends. I'm your big brother, so I want us to be close.” And then his lips curve upward, but Kentarou doesn't feel the warmth of affection. He feels wrath. “I want you to have these. They're like a promise, okay? A promise that we'll always be brothers.”_

_Kentarou's a fool. He's a fool that continues to hold hope in the world when it's been proven all of it should be burned away, cinders never influencing his life in any way ever again. But he stares into the eyes of the only person he can consider family, and can only nod as the beginnings of a grin start to rise within him._

_Then there's a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. Slowly, not rough, but firm. Tooru barely manages to catch the box after a bit of fumbling._

_“Seems you've been getting into a lot of trouble lately kid,” There's the barest hint of sympathy, but it's overridden by the nails digging into his shoulder. “The bee isn't a fan. Doesn't like when a worker disrupts the order of the hive, you know?” No, he doesn't know. Kentarou doesn't know anything anymore because he's fucking stupid, but he doesn't say anything, can't. “You can go off to bed Your Highness. We're gonna have a little chat here.”_

_Tooru doesn't budge. Kentarou feels a spark in the depths of his chest._

_“I'll take care of this. Your mother wants you to go to bed.”_

_Kentarou expects an argument._ _He expects Tooru to frown and throw a tantrum. He expects him to stamp his foot like a little diva from the Southern Isles, making crude demands with a snarky voice. He expects the promise they've made to be honored in full._

_What he doesn't expect it to look at Tooru and feel that spark within him die._

_It's as if he's seeing the boy for the very first time. A boy with beautifully kept hair, silk pajamas, and the eyes of a woman known to be the most gorgeous in the kingdom._

_A boy who turns his attention to the marble beneath his feet as Kentarou is dragged by the wrist to get another bout of lashings, lashings that are always, always,_ always, _Tooru's fault._

_“I hate you!” The scream tears itself from his throat before he realizes it's coming, but Kentarou can't stop, wouldn't want to even if he could, “I hate you! You'll never be my friend! Never!”_

You'll never be my brother.

_And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? Because it doesn't matter if their blood is the same, if they have the same father._

_Tooru has the right mother, and Kentarou has none at all._

_When Kentarou drags himself to his bed in the servants quarters that night, he sobs when Mama Xiao rubs salve on the lashes on his back._

_He remembers Tooru’s teasing commands to pick up the toys he threw everywhere when they played outside and visualizes the color of Tooru's hair and eyes._

_He lays in the portion of the palace reserved for nobodies while Tooru is read a bedtime story by his mother and their father._

_That night, the seeds of envy plant themselves in Kentarou's heart._

_And they fester._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1: Same shit, different day


	2. Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Father’s asked to speak with you. Privately.” A glance at the silver watch on his wrist, “We have to go now if we don’t want to be late,” He implores, as if Kentaoru has a choice in the matter. When they lock eyes, he realizes he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I finally did it. I'm not gonna lie, I don't think I'd ever be 100% satisfied with this, but I thought it was fine for the most part, so I sucked it up and decided to post it. It's not that bad, but if you notice any mistakes or pacing issues you think I absolutely need to address, dm me on Twitter.
> 
> If you think I should just do shorter chapters that I update more frequently or a large satisfying chapters with more content, let me know in the comments.

The Sun is well into the sky by the time Kentarou forces his eyes open. They ache. He spares a glance at the clock before groaning loudly, pulling a pillow over his face. He’s slept two hours late, yet he’s more exhausted than when he’d flopped onto his bed the previous night.

It’s not like it’s a surprise though. Given what’s been going on lately, everyone’s being worked into the ground, regardless of who they are. Kentarou briefly spares a thought for the king's attendants before pushing it to the back of his mind. He has enough on his plate, he doesn't have any pity or empathy to spare for people who look down their nose at him more often than not.

Kentarou swings his legs over the side of his bed with a yawn in an effort to dispel that train of thought. Just as well. _No reason to be this pissy when nothing's happened yet,_ he thinks, stretching his back as far as he can until he hears a satisfying pop. He huffs out a laugh when he thinks of who that kind of attitude would suit, can picture how the man's brows furrow as he grumbles should Kentarou dare wake him up before noon.

Honestly. Shigeru shouldn't even be sleeping when his father brings him here for meetings, and-

_Wait. Shit._

Kentarou clumsily rises from his position at the edge of the bed and rushes to get dressed, fumbling as he pulls a plain white shirt over his head and nearly falls over as pulls on a pair of shorts.

Kentarou can't even pretend he'd forgotten if he shows up late. He can never forget Shigeru. He's too important, deserves too much respect and reverence and fear. Though he supposes his lapse in memory is a bit ironic considering the guy never seems to escape his thoughts when he wants him to.

He’s hurriedly opening his drawers and sliding his hands under the wardrobe to find his belt when the door bursts open. Kentarou could not are any less about whatever this person is about to say. They both know it's never anything important.

“Having trouble there?” Kentarou doesn’t even have to look at him to know that Yuuji’s got his stupid signature smirk on his face.

He’s over it. He’s got too much on his mind and too much to do to worry about the whims of his unbearable best friend, “Screw off.”

There’s a gasp of mock offense behind him, but Kentarou pays it no heed as he opts to tug the ragged belt he's pulled up from the floor through the loops in his shorts. “How rude! And here I was thinking I’d escort my best buddy to breakfast before his _lover,”_ Yuuji sings the word, and Kentarou barely stops himself from jumping out the window, “Throws a nasty hissy-fit in the dining hall.”

Okay. So Yuuji’s an annoying, flirtatious, undercut wearing prick sometimes. But honestly? He’s the funniest, friendliest, and most genuine person Kentarou's ever met.

Kentarou reaches into his bedside drawer to grab his keys when he hears a snort, “I mean sure, he _could_ do a lot better, but the heart wants what the heart wants. No matter how grotesque the sight may be.”

_Still a pain in the ass though._

Kentarou sits on the edge of his bed to pull on his sandals, rolling his eyes, “Shouldn’t you be making some girl uncomfortable somewhere?” He glances at Yuuji, snorting at the pinkish tint to his cheeks. _Too easy._

“That wasn’t my fault!” His exasperated wailing only worsens when Kentarou fixes him a look, throwing his hands up as he speeds through an explanation the Scribes in the South have probably gotten word of by now. “I was just minding my own business when she screamed about that rat! How was I supposed to know she was changing when I went to go help her?!”

“Sounds pretty suspicious to me.”

Yuuji covers his face with his hands, “Not you too! I thought you were on _my_ side!”

Kentarou makes his way over to the door, shoving Yuuji with his shoulder so they can finally leave, “I am. It’s just funnier to pretend not to be.”

Yuuji harrumphs in annoyance, though they still walk side by side as they make their way out of the West Wing.

Nobody looks at them. There’s no reason to- it’s not like they’re doing anything, and they aren’t anyone especially important. Everyone’s busy rushing in and out of the laundry and maintenance rooms. The marble floors beneath their feet shine with the light trickling in from the windows in the hall. Yuuji’s voice is low so as not to disturb anyone who may be roaming the halls, but he still manages to carry the conversation between them. Something about a new prototype car being sent over causing a stir in the stables since the old man who cares for the horses isn’t overly fond of the new development of alternative transportation.

Carriage rails are fine. Steam engines are fine. Basic motor boats are fine. But electric cars? The old man's on the verge of a stroke.

Kentarou initially suspects the aversion stems from the fact that the only people who have time to get used to the new tech are the aristocrats who can afford it, and he opens his mouth to confirm it, but then he catches sight of Yuuji's eyes.

Then he realizes the only reason they’re even talking about this in the first place is the cheeky hot headed guy who was sent over to deliver said prototype. To say Yuuji fell hard would be a gross understatement. Not that that’s any of his business.

No, his business is the mess he’s currently gotten mixed up in and what he’s on his way to settle. He doesn’t know when things got this bad or how long it’s been happening. He could say it all started as little as two weeks ago, but he knows the catalyst was probably when this thing between them started, during that hurricane at the tail end of rainy season when he was sixteen.

The sea surrounding the peninsula housing the palace was raging with a strength greater than any gods would dare inspire, and they'd been in the maintenance room, Kentarou working while he was lost. Or hiding. Or both.

Kentarou’s eyes itch and he squints, rubbing them to make some effort to alleviate the sensation.

_Just like the storm._

His allergies were killing him that day, too. It was as if all the salt from the sea mixed with the scent of oil on his clothes from his time spent in the maintenance room, and teamed up with the pollen drifting from the gardens to assault his senses. Kentarou remembers the smell of strawberries, of a coin pouch embroidered with golden stars and silver crowns. He remembers a softness he'd thought imaginary, and nearly loses himself in it before Yuuji's laughter pulls him back to reality.

They make a left around a corner, briefly pausing to allow a group of guards to pass them by. Kentarou used to admire them, used to want to train hard enough to be selected to wear the teal jacket and sleek white uniform. But then he locks eyes with Iwaizumi and is instantly reminded of all his failures and inadequacies. He should’ve known that trash they preach in the street was nothing more than ghoulish overkill used to trick poor sods into enlisting.

Heavy boots echo down the hall in the direction of the East Wing, so Kentarou tugs Yuuji towards a door so they can take a quick detour. The guy isn’t phased by anything, just lets himself be led outside to take the short garden trail guests travel down to reach the parlor rooms and jumps right back into his story.

That’s what Kentarou likes about Yuuji. Always smiling, never faltering, knows when to pick his battles. He's deceptively smart.

Yuuji’s chewing on some dried, salted flower petals, and his breath smells like honeysuckle. Kind of like that shitrag with the bowlcut who delivered the prototype to the garage who Yuuji seems to be spending all of his time talking to or gushing about. It's charming in a way, but it gets old quick. Kentarou's only saving grace right now is the fact that Yuuji's subject matter has turned to the Backstreets, and Kentarou feels himself relax a little.

“So at the end of the month, I was thinking we could head down to the harbor. Might even invite Shirabu to come with us. He could use the time away from the garage. Besides, I heard the Crows are stirring things up, switchin’ up their act a little.”

Kentarou hums, and his eyes catch the camellia bush near the gazebo at the center of the garden. Even from where he's walking with Yuuji next to the palace walls, they’re absolutely beautiful.

His hands tighten into fists and he shoves them into his shorts. He should’ve gotten some. Whether it’s to help calm himself about what he’s trying to do or if it’s to spite the woman who says she loves something he painstakingly maintains, he isn’t completely sure. It worries him.

“Apparently they’ve got a new kid, some reject from the academy the prince went to. They say he got in on a scholarship but they couldn’t stand his attitude.” Yuuji tutts, “Damn shame though. They say he was real smart. Even gave his Highness a run for his money.” His voice drops in volume, though Kentarou can hear the whisper as clear as anything Yuuji says, “Some people even think that’s why he got canned. Couldn’t have someone make the prince look stupid.”

Kentarou grunts in acknowledgment while Yuuji goes back to gushing about his new flame. Jokes aside, Kentarou fully acknowledges the startling truth to his words. While the prince likes to play the part of the humble son of an exemplary king, his hubris is unmatched. It's very likely that his frustration with his junior is what got the kid kicked out of the academy.

A real shame. Kentarou liked Kageyama. He came from the Backstreets and always tried to invent things that would turn things around over there.

Kentarou knows they've made it to the training grounds when the flowers abruptly stop to give way to a dark beige combination of dirt and sand. They trudge along the edge before they realize it's empty, slipping inside the equipment room while they can to make the trip shorter. They pass by the ammunition stores, giving a nod to the recruit taking inventory as they finally re-enter the palace.

And here they are. The East Wing.

It’s so obviously meant for nobility it’s appalling. Gaudy chandeliers, the flooring dusted with a faint sparkle, the paint on the walls a bit glossier to reflect the light better. Paintings of the Oikawa family line the walls. Some are depictions of past council meetings, others of outings in foreign countries or particularly grand weddings. The air smells of cherry liqueur. Servants wait patiently against the walls, hands clasped on their front or arms folded behind their backs as they await their next order.

Yuuji turns to him then, smile turning sympathetic and eyes emanating hints of concern, “This is where we part dude. Good luck with Young Master Yahaba.”

Kentarou waves him off as he heads down the hall to the formal dining hall. He can hear Yuuji's footsteps against the floor as he heads in the opposite direction towards the Central Plaza of the palace.

Kentarou kind of wants to join him. This isn't a conversation he wants to have.

His gaze is downcast as he makes his way into the dining hall, the scent of fruit tarts and muffins drifting through the air. When he finally lifts his head when he reaches the doorway, his eyes scan the room. Guards against the wall. Servants setting food on the table for guests that'll be entering and exiting the room all day between meals.

Before he can fully access the table, he feels eyes locked onto his forehead like darts, and a chair scrapes louding against the floor.

“What the hell is this?!” The incredulous scream makes Kentarou's head pulsate.

Nobody dares look at either of them. The guards posted in the room avert their eyes while the servants scurry back to the kitchen.

Hell hath no fury like a Yahaba, and they know how to look damn good when they're dishing out punishment that's owed.

Shigeru looks good. Good, because Kentarou's stopped trying to find words to describe the way his heart races and his blood rushes when he sees him. His family's colors suit him- the silver buttons on his navy blue suit jacket make him a star when paired with his black pants. The boots are new though. Black with silver accents. Only the best for the best.

Shigeru takes a couple steps towards him, "I asked you a question!"

And yeah, he's super pissed right now, but he's fucking gorgeous.

Kentarou thanks the guard's aversion to incurring Shigeru's rage for how he's able to swipe a muffin from the table without fear. Shigeru's eyes track his movements, foot tapping impatiently for the whole fifteen seconds Kentarou's seemingly wasted getting himself something to eat before he's verbally eviscerated.

"Parlor room. Now," He says, teeth gritted, eyes molten chocolate. Kentarou doesn't even have time to address his wholly inaccurate assessment of someone who's probably about to murder him in broad daylight before he's being dragged out of the room, heading back down the hall he's just come from.

Unfortunately, the servants from the kitchen and anyone lucky enough to escape before the raging storm that is the love of his life didn't warn those posted in the hall. They get a couple glances from said servants, though one look at Shigeru makes them turn to Kentarou with nothing but pity.

 _Poor bastard_ , they say, _he's an asshole, but does he really deserve what he's gonna get?_

The room Shigeru has reserved is unlocked for them, courtesy of the hovering staff, and Shigeru practically throws Kentarou inside before locking the door behind them.

It's only when they're alone that Kentarou takes a moment to fully assess Shigeru's features. He's shining with heat and hurt and razors ready to cut him up for doing this, causing this.

A piece of paper is thrust into his face, Shigeru hissing, "Explain this right now."

Kentarou blurs his vision so he doesn't have to read it again, and shoves his muffin into his mouth so he doesn't have to answer.

"Can you stop being a dick for two seconds and answer me! This isn't a joke!" Shigeru's never been one for yelling, but no holds barred this time.

Kentarou swallows thickly, "Never said it was."

Shigeru shoves the letter against his chest, "Then stop treating it like it is."

"I'm not." Jokes are funny. Jokes are crude. Jokes don't make the people you love cry for hours.

"Then read it."

He can't. He can, but he can't. The words are too difficult for him to understand. Kentarou stands there like a fool, hand clutching the letter hard enough for his fists to ache.

Shigeru crosses his arms, eyes narrowed, "Thought so. Who coached you and made you write it?"

"You don't wanna know."

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't, dicknips."

"Don't be an ass. And you don't, because it's not gonna be what you wanna hear."

"I'll be however I want when it involves us. And I don't care. I want the truth."

 _So there's still an us, huh?_ The thought makes his heart speed up. Kentarou sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Shigeru softens a bit then, watches his movements with a trained eye as he steps closer. His hands cover the ones already holding the letter, pulls them toward himself. "Please Ken. Don't do this to me."

Gods, how can he? How can he do this when he's looking at Kentarou like he's worth something? Shigeru's got him on a leash and Kentarou can't do anything but obey him, a stray finally getting a taste of the love he craves. "Kanzaki. He said since it's a matter that deals with the transfer of power, he had to intervene."

It's the truth, and they both know it. This thing between them, this state of lovers, partners, begrudging companions, everyone knows about it.

Including Shigeru's parents.

And Yahaba Shintaro is a smart man. He knows what it would mean for his family if they were even one centimeter closer to the Oikawa's. It's no coincidence that he went from lamenting the loss of his eldest son to a bastard living on cheap grain to singing the saccharine notes of matrimony over the span of three weeks, not after he's spent the past six years trying to separate the two of them.

Honestly, it doesn't take a mathematician to put two and two together.

Shigeru sighs, uncurls Kentarou's fingers from the letter, one by one, until it drops to the floor. He places a kiss to the palms of Kentarou's right hand and leans into it.

What is he supposed to say?

That he doesn't care about what other people think, that their love is far too strong for something like this? Because he does, and it is, but that doesn't mean he can win. Not against something like this. Who is he to the people who run the country, who act in the best interests of that ever elusive greater good?

He is no one. But Shigeru is everything.

So what is he supposed to say, except, "I still love you." What can he do besides take Shigeru's hand and pull him closer?

"The king can't die, his wife'll be destroyed," He whispers, a paradoxical statement that rejects and accepts what is to come.

"You don't know that." Nobody does. None of the doctors the queen has called, none of the physicians. The king breathes air Father Time provides out of pity, but nobody knows if the gods will favor him enough to change his fate or if he will leave the world without so much as a whisper.

Shigeru rests his forehead against Kentarou's. Kentarou has to close his eyes to keep himself from saying something stupid after getting lost in them.

He remembers sneaking through courtyards and empty parlor rooms in the afternoon, just before Shigeru has to ride back home with his father. Stolen kisses that taste of sweet desserts swiped from the kitchen, of crisp cider and ale that nobody would miss taken from the cellar. Sometimes Yuuji would find them, and they would joke and laugh and borderline pester each other.

Shigeru's voice is a trembling, quiet thing now, "Okay, okay. I get it. You should've talked to me first, but I get it. We can't let them see us together."

Kentarou nods. The words are sour leaving his mouth, "So to the world, we're done."

And Shigeru knows what that means, but Kentarou doesn't know if he's crying because of it or in spite of it. Kentarou thumbs away his tears, and kisses him.

It's not meant to be cute, and it's not. It's full of teeth and clumsy movements, of tears and tiny gasps for breath. Shigeru's hands are in his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp to keep him there, to keep him in this room with him, at least for now. It stings, and Kentarou doesn't care, arms tight around Shigeru's waist.

He can't let go. Never.

So, long after Shigeru forces him to loosen his arms, smooths out his clothes, makes sure he looks as upset as one would expect for someone who just got dumped, and trudges out of that room, Kentarou is stuck. He's trapped in that single moment of peace they'll be able to carry with them until they can try this again.

And he realizes now that it might be the worst day of his life.

But the world doesn't stop spinning. It keeps turning, keeps rotating on an axis that sends him tumbling wherever it wills, and he's bound to do so again.

He exits that parlor room as if nothing has happened, doesn't even look at the servants lining the walls. He knows what this looks like, and he hopes it accomplishes what it should, hopes the ripples it causes reach court and shake the aristocracy.

Maybe they'll finally learn that nobody can mess with Shigeru, not even his own family. He is nobody's pawn.

Kentarou takes the long way back to the kennels, sticks close to the walls as he heads back to the formal dining hall. The nobles and guards pay him no mind as he slips into the kitchens. He barely side steps to avoid a girl holding a tray, can hear her stuttered apologies despite Kentarou taking the blame himself.

The cooks are preparing for dinner, cutting onions, potatoes, garlic, and whatever else they need for the stew that's to be served tonight. It's all anyone can seem to stomach lately given the stress.

Kentarou doesn't bother saying anything when he snatches a couple napkins, taking a few cuts of jerky from one of the ingredient racks and wrapping them inside. He eyes the oranges and swipes those that won't be missed.

Someone clears their throat behind him, click of their heel sharp as they tap their foot impatiently.

"Not even a hello for your mother? Ungrateful boy!"

"What mother?"

"Don't be rude, boy! You aren't too old for my sandal!"

Kentarou waves her off, "I don't wanna hear it from the woman who kicked me out as soon as I hit sixteen, you can get outta here with that."

Xiao Xiao clicks her tongue, slapping his hand with a wooden spoon when he reaches for an apple, "Ah?! Did you forget why? Causing trouble and getting an attitude when you're punished, what a foolish boy!"

Kentarou turns his head to glare at her, "Don't preach to me when you haven't read the Scriptures yourself, witch."

She snorts as she takes her place back at her cutting board, snatching garlic cloves from in front of her, "You forget who raised you. Don't think I don't know you haven't called me worse."

Kentarou grinds his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait.

She notices, frowning, "Shut up that cursing in your head! And put that food back, I'm not in the mood to hear you got beaten again!"

Kentarou bristles, "Well excuse the hell outta me if my getting assualted ruins your fucking dinner."

Her gaze sharpens, her knife coming to a halt, "Watch your mouth boy. You've been in this world for twenty three years, you're far too young to mouth off to me."

Kentarou wordlessly grabs an apple, staring at her as he takes a giant bite out of it.

Xiao Xiao clicks her teeth, "Why I put up with you will remain a mystery."

Kentarou doesn't bother responding when he escapes the kitchen into storage. He navigates the isles of cookware, bags of rice and grain, flour, any and everything needed to feed hundreds of mouths on a daily basis.

Kentarou opens the back door and slips outside to the far left of the training grounds, swiftly locking it before Xiao Xiao can run after him to rope him into more work. For a woman who makes is abundantly clear she never really wanted to take care of him, she likes to hold the whole "found mother" thing over his head.

The training grounds are full again, but Kentarou doesn't spare a glance towards the practicing guard. He makes his way back down that garden path, ignores anyone he passes, and speeds to the kennels.

There's a familiar barking filling the air, and Kentarou jogs the last few feet to the yard. The hounds are out as per usual during warm weather, lounging about here and there before the arrival of the trainer and the Captain. But there's one in particular zooming all over the place that Kentarou is always drawn to.

He whistles sharply and she comes bounding towards him. He barely steps out the way to avoid her pouncing on him, "Fae."

She's happy, because of course she is. Fae is always happy when she's allowed to roam free, which is becoming rarer as the days pass. Contrary to what was believed about her considering she's the runt of her litter, she's vicious and moody. Extremely so. Far too much for anybody to tame, too unpredictable for anyone important.

But Kentarou has met her once before, when they were both small and not yet clear to the cruelty of the world.

So the prince gave her to Kentarou. She's one of the oldest hounds here, too old to be a good guard anymore. Kentarou's glad.

A gentle chuckle, "Coming to work a little late, yeah? Is that the move today?"

Kentarou immediately straightens, turning his head in the direction it came from. Exiting the kennels with a pitcher of water, Tachi grins at Kentarou. It sets him at ease. He relaxes, exhaling deeply as his shoulders slump.

Tachi stands over the line of dishes, motioning Kentarou forward, "You always act like I'm going to do something to you. I've told you before you aren't a bother."

 _It you gave me less of a reason to respect you then I wouldn't have to worry about being a bother,_ Kentarou snarks in his head. He walk to the shabby outdoor table and chairs, laying out his goodies from the kitchen, "Got you something to eat."

Tachi hums as he fills the dishes with water methodically, "Sit with me."

Kentarou obliges gladly. He watches the hounds rise from their resting places to race each other to their dishes. Fae remains near Kentarou, sitting by his side, waiting for him to cave and give her some jerky.

He does, obviously, but she doesn't have to look so smug about it.

Tachi fills the last dish, and finally, Fae trots over to lap at it. Tachi walks to the table and sets the pitcher down, sitting across from Kentarou. His smile widens when he sees the oranges, and Kentarou feels warm. "Look at you grabbing the good stuff. I'm surprised Xiao Xiao didn't pitch a fit."

"She did."

Tachi huffs, shaking his head, "You two. Always with the arguing. You're like oil and water." Kentarou doesn't have time to address that before Tachi eyes him with the Look. "Speaking of arguments, I heard you and the Young Master got into it today."

Kentarou groans, covering his face with his hands, "They told you?"

"No, I meant what I said when I said I heard it. I think everyone in the East Wing heard it, actually."

Kentarou drops his head onto the table with a loud thump, voice muffled, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Tachi hums, "I know. That's not the part I'm worried about." Kentarou turns his head so he can look at him, watches him peel the orange with a concentrated expression, "I'm more worried about how you feel about the why, not the what."

Kentarou folds his arms on the table, resting his head on top of them, "Is it that obvious?"

"No. But I've known you a while, son. It's obvious to me."

"I don't know anything about feelings. Ask Shigeru if you see him."

"If you think his father's gonna let him come back to the palace for at least a week, you're clearly losing it."

Kentarou frowns, "I don't know why you're asking me when I don't know jack shit."

Tachi tuts, "The mouth on you, I swear. Who taught you that?"

"Xiao Xiao."

"You're right, but you shouldn't say it."

Kentarou lapses back into silence as Tachi snacks on what Kentarou brought for him. He watches the hounds return to their previous spots or tracks the movements of the younger ones as they play around. Fae returns to his side to lie next to his feet.

"I think," Tachi begins, mouth full, "That what you're feeling isn't even about the two of you." Kentarou returns his attention to him, confusion written over his features. "You've had this mood for a while. And you can't fool these old bones, the two of you aren't done yet, not by a long shot."

"You aren't even old," Kentarou grumbles, cheeks red.

Tachi laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "So you say, but I remember you calling me an old coot when I wasn't even forty."

Kentarou motions for him to continue in an effort to quell his embarrassment.

Tachi crosses his arms, leaning back, "It's impossible for anyone to be able to fully understand what's going on in other's hearts unless they themselves are within it, son. That's why the Young Master was the only one who understood you so well."

Kentarou feels faintly embarrassed, murmuring, "You're there too." He is. Tachi has been nicer to him than anyone he's ever known. Kentarou distinctly remembers slipping up when he was younger when he called for him, feels the heat creeping up his neck at the memory.

And Tachi catches it, because of course he does, and he beams. Kentarou can't even focus on how mortified he is when he sees it. "I suppose I am. I'm nowhere near as close as the Young Master though. But if I had to guess as…" The man blinks as if lost, "As a, uh-"

"Family. Just- you're family."

Because he is, and that's all there is to it. More than anyone in the world, this worn down kennel worker is as close to real family as Kentarou will ever get. An actual, real family that claims him.

Tachi's smile wavers. The man swallows, the light catching wetness pooling in the corners of his eyes. He takes a deep breath before continuing, smile wider than ever before, seeming to light up like the Sun itself, "As family, I'd have to guess that you're feeling a bit sad. Or confused. Conflicted for sure."

"Why?"

Kentarou turns his head to pretend he doesn't see Tachi raise the corner of the napkin to his eyes, "Well, people normally cry when a family member is dying. You aren't, haven't, and won't. I'm not surprised. The king's caused you a lot of pain, and nobody can refute that, but you might be trying to bury whatever sadness you feel under indifference, even if it's minimal to begin with. Your brain probably can't keep up. The whole situation with the Young Master wasn't helping."

Kentarou's frown deepens, though he does pause.

Tachi locks eyes with him, and he can feel his expression soften, "Just think on it some. It'll help you feel better later on."

There are voices coming from the path, the sound of boots loud in the otherwise serene setting. Kentarou stiffens as Tachi's smile turns strained and tired.

He rises from the table and tips his head for Kentarou to follow, leading him into the kennels. His voice is low as he directs Kentarou to an unused corner of the kennels behind old storage crates and broken garden tools. "The trainer came through yesterday and found some mold, so we've gotta clean it by the end of the day." He hands Kentarou a bottle of strong smelling clear liquid as well as the hose, "The guy's real uppity and I don't want anything to happen to you, so do this for me, yeah? We'll finish our conversation another time."

Kentarou clicks his teeth, "If he's being an ass, I can help-"

"No, no. I don't want any fights. Keeping you out of trouble is what's most important."

Before he leaves, he takes a minute to grasp Kentarou by the shoulders. It startles him, and he nearly drops the hose and the bottle when Tachi wraps him in a bone crushing hug. It's over too quick, Kentarou doesn't even have time to return it, and Tachi leaves him.

Kentarou hears the three men speaking, the clanking of leashes and collars, and the steady sound of nails on pavement as the dogs are led to the training grounds.

Kentarou's alone again. He should be used to it.

He wrinkles his nose as he turns to the wall. This corner is disgusting. The entirety of the kennels always stinks, the hounds have a distinct smell of the outdoors that they're forever found with given their exercise regimen, but standing in this abandoned corner of the room specifically, next to this spontaneous mold growth, makes it so much worse.

Kentarou sprays the cleaning solution on the wall once again and adjusts the strength of the hose as he waits for it to set. The work is gross, but he understands the necessity. The hounds protect the royal family, they can't afford to be sick. This fact alone makes the growth of the mold occuring at all suspicious. Even if it’s in an area not regularly used, the conditions aren’t ripe for the growth of whatever kind of mold this is. They have occasional spots in areas where water regularly lays that turn a light pink upon being scrubbed, in warmer areas hit by the Sun that are damp from the sea breeze that become dark green, but those aren’t anything like what’s on this wall. No. This indigo fuzz patch is far from normal. Kentarou doesn’t recognize it, has never seen it anywhere on the palace platou, and it makes him uneasy.

He can hear footsteps outside, and for a moment, believes Tachi managed to come back early.

Nope. The sound of the prince and Iwaizumi drifts in through the door leading outside, left cracked by Tachi, most likely to allow the breeze to circulate enough to air out the kennel. He tries to tune them out as best he can, but the prince is just so, so loud.

Kentarou would normally distract himself, but he's not in the mood to think about what Tachi said, and his usual subject only makes his heart hurt right now.

He knows it had to be done. He knows they aren’t even over. That doesn’t make it hurt any less though, because whether or not it was an act, he still broke up with Shigeru. He watched him cry, felt his own heart shatter into a million pieces before being tossed into the ocean for the crawfish to enjoy. He remembers getting into a fight with an old palace recruit who called Shigeru a whoreson’s plaything, knows how it felt to have his ribs cracked and bruises litter his body, and he believes it hurt less than this.

The prince belts out a laugh. Kentarou clenches his jaw.

_It’s not fair._

Iwaizumi isn’t a bad guy. He’s loyal- has to be given the family profession- and he’s the strongest guard in his battalion. His physicality is unmatched, and only Kentarou himself had come close to even approaching his stats after weeks of working with the guy one-on-one to build himself higher. Kentarou used to dream of standing by the guy’s side, becoming somebody worth the seasalt air he’s allowed to breathe on a daily basis.

Why doesn’t he have that anymore? Why did he let go of that dream? Why did he do this to himself?

_Because we don’t have a choice._

True, though crudely ironic given the circumstances. He’s not even legitimized yet they’ve got his whole life planned out for him like he’s the prince or something. Be nothing. Stay nothing. Die as nothing. It’s concise and ultimately attainable. And even if it weren’t he’d have had to do it anyway. Who is he to talk back?

**Nobody right now. But you will be, soon.**

His neck _burns._

Kentarou hisses, turns the hose to his hand to douse it in water before hurriedly pressing it to the side of his neck. It doesn’t do anything. The pain is deep, seeping into his bones. It’s like a ray of sunlight found its way into his body to fry his veins and scald his skin, like hot cinders shoved into his mouth to scorch his throat.

He turns the pressure on the hose as far up as he can, turns it to the wall across from him. The mold is washed away with little resistance, water droplets flying in all directions from the impact on the brick. Kentarou takes a deep breath, bracing himself for that same force to hit him, reassures himself that it’ll be fine, everything’s okay, just _for the love of the gods stop the burning-_

“I don’t know what the wall did to you, but I think you’ve beaten it enough, yeah?”

Kentarou jaws clenches. He obeys the unspoken command and turns off the hose, though a pulse of heat on his neck when his left hand leaves it makes him immediately return it.

The prince appears to be struggling to come up with something to say, brows furrowed and eyes hesitant. He looks anywhere but Kentarou, and the brief moment their eyes do meet causes him to wince. Kentarou glances at Iwaizumi and it met with a gaze of confusion and suspicion.

“You okay?” Iwaizumi is curt, though his concern is notable.

The prince’s eyes snap back to Kentarou and dart to his hand. He’s worried. “What happened to your neck?” His voice is high, ordinary teasing lilt replaced with something that borders fussy.

Kentarou feels the spot under his hand pulsate. The blood runs fast and hot, gliding through his body as it thunders with his pulse.

Kentarou’s hand is faintly trembling as he pulls his hand away. He watches the prince breathe a sigh of relief, and he knows nothing’s there. Thinking of a reasonable excuse- why is he giving an excuse, why is he hiding this- he murmurs, “Nothing. Sore from a past beating, Your Highness.” He licks his lips, the words low and curt when they leave him.

Iwaizumi frowns, shaking his head slightly, “Nevermind that. The prince has business with you.” Ah. Back to the work persona, back to the not-threats that remind him who he’s dealing with so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

Kentarou focuses on the man in question. The prince is wearing his casual clothes today… if royalty can manage to be casual at all. He’s got his pressed pants and button up shirt, collar embroidered with his family’s crest, always with the crest, and a teal blazer. The level of unnecessary to gather a suit of three colors in unmatched. Black pants should never cost more than a room full of servants make in a lifetime, and neither should a white collared shirt. He can understand the blazer since the fabric is imported from islands further East where the people’s skill with dyes are unparalleled, and tailors in the Western District don’t come cheap.

The prince straightens up, “It’s fine, Iwa-chan.”

Kentarou wants to leave. The pain in his neck has faded enough to become a sharp stabbing sensation, though that isn’t saying much given what he subjected to moments ago. He’s got a shit temper on a normal day, but today isn’t normal, not anymore. Shigeru’s not with him and he suspects someone’s done something to him and the prince has broken their unspoken vow of avoidance and life just really, really sucks.

But rather than act like an impulsive fool with a deathwish, Kentarou forces himself to stand motionlessly and wait for the prince to speak. He’s reminded of a time when he was young and dumb, anxiously waiting for someone he’d never see.

What was he waiting for again? What were they supposed to give him?

The prince shifts from one foot to the other. He opens his mouth to speak once, closes it, and opens it again.

Then the words come spilling out.

“Father’s asked to speak with you. Privately.” A glance at the silver watch on his wrist, “We have to go now if we don’t want to be late,” He implores, as if Kentaoru has a choice in the matter. When they lock eyes, he realizes he does.

Because at that moment, he doesn't see the prince. He sees Tooru, tired, barely held together by the threads of his clothing.

He turns to leave, and Kentarou follows obediently, the harsh barking of dogs assaulting his ears.

Iwaizumi keeps a close eye on them, but even he’s visibly uncomfortable with the aura Kentarou is giving off. The duo tries to initiate conversation a few times, but nothing holds. He doesn’t know what they expected. Kentarou is a master of deflection and discussion closing.

Just as they’re about to reach the elevator taking him to the king’s quarters, Tooru tries one last time, “I- uh, remember when you used to train with Iwa-chan? As part of the guard? Good times, huh?” He chuckles nervously, anticipating a reaction Kentarou doesn’t think he can muster right now.

“What the hell is with that ‘used to’? Dad said he still was- just trained with the regular guard instead of the senior members.” Iwaizumi’s puzzled mumbling makes Tooru’s shoulders tense up.

Kentarou raises his brows, but purses his lips to keep his mouth shut. _Someone’s been keeping secrets from their bestest friend in the world._

Deep, deep inside of himself, Kentarou feels like he should be gloating, but he doesn’t know why.

“Would you look at that! We’re here!” Tooru’s sudden exclamation startles Kentarou, makes him jerk his head up to face the elevator doors. Tooru’s sending him a smile that’s trying its damdest to be excited, but it’s nothing but anxiety and nerves spilling onto the marble floors. “I’ve gotta go do something super important right now, so just head on up without me. Mattsun will escort you once you get there.” Tooru doesn’t even say goodbye before he turns to speed down the hallway.

Iwaizumi is right on his heels, shouting, “Don’t ignore me! What did you mean?! Did you kick him out?!”

And just like that, Kentarou is alone.

He presses the button for the elevator and jumps out of his skin when the doors open with a sharp ding.

The ride up is short enough to keep his thoughts from wandering, but long enough for his nerves to cement. The compartment smells of the imported jasmine the queen favors, the scent traveling through the vents and getting more evident the higher up the king's tower the elevator climbs.

When the doors open, Kentarou desperately wishes someone would take pity on him and smite him where he stands. But no, all that awaits him is a hallway with the usual four guards posted along the walls. Captain Iwaizumi is right next to the elevator, but he doesn't bat an eye at Kentarou. Just as well. He's about to reach his quota of one awkward conversation with someone who's supposed to be a parental figure, he doesn't need any excess.

Matsukawa exits the room at the end of the hall and glides toward him. Gliding, not due to grace or posture- though he undoubtedly possesses a high degree of both due to being assigned here- but because of his ability to cross any distance with speed and elegance.

Matsukawa doesn't say anything to him, which is strange enough given how he sticks to court protocol with vigor in front of powerhouses like the Captain. _People have been in and out all day, no doubt he's tired of the formalities._ He’s dressed in the usual white collared shirt with a black cravat and his beige pants typical of royal assistants and retainers-in-training, though he’s visibly drained if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, no trace of humor or happiness or mischief against his dark brown irises.

Kentarou has had no more than two conversations with the king, and only one of them had lasted more than a minute. But that instance is in no way comparable to what’s about to happen, especially given how much needs to be said in an obviously short amount of time.

His neck aches, though he resists the urge to reach his hand up to hold it again. It wouldn’t do much to help anyway. His hands are sweaty and far too hot.

Matsukawa speaks as if Kentarou is personally granting him reprieve when he whispers, “His Majesty personally asked for you, you know. Not even his wife is allowed to interrupt. It goes without saying that you have to stay until he bids you leave.”

There is no room for reply when Matsukawa pulls the red oak door open wide enough for Kentarou to slip inside before closing it behind him softly. As if the shutting of the door will be enough to snuff out the lone flame on the old candle laying here.

The room is the clearest example of the words refinery and elegance, and Kentarou can’t help the way he gapes. It’s spacious enough to rival two normal rooms on any other floor, doors on the left and right connecting to the office and bathroom respectively. They’re the only three rooms on the entire floor solely because of their size. The tall ceilings are home to chandeliers that glitter with diamonds, strings of tiny pearls reflecting the light against the wall. Bookshelves lined with countless journals of past rulers, vanities lined more with lipstick and earrings than cologne typical of the king, wardrobes full to bursting with dresses and suits, any and everything one could dream of having in a bedroom of this stature. A window seat littered with letters, newspapers, and magazines, an area reserved for lounging with a low table between a loveseat and reclining chair.

Even with carts of medicine, medical equipment, antibiotics, and numerous herbal remedies taking up most of the space not reserved for furniture, the room is more snug than it is cluttered.

Kentarou is hit with the sudden urge to trash the place.

Kentarou hesitantly makes his way toward the bed, considers what Tachi spoke to him about as he his eyes reach the man lying on the bed. Is he sad? Is he confused? Is he indifferent? Does his lack of emotion in this moment make him a sociopath? He stops a good two feet away from the man’s bedside.

The king is frail. Who was once a domineering public figure known for his resolve and unwavering support of his people, who haunted Kentarou’s nightmares on more than one occasion, is nothing more than a common, waning flame of a man whose hair has gone grey, whose memory is shot, and whose skin is nothing more than a cover for what used to be.

“Come closer,” The man says, only audible by the impeccable acoustics of the room. “Let me see you, I have much to say.”

Kentarou steps forwards. He remembers his place after all, even if the man holding his life in his hands can barely manage to keep his own eyes open.

The king exhales a tired, deep sound. It does not reverberate. It does not shake his bones. It’s nothing more than the breath of a dying man, who makes Kentarou uncomfortable with the way his eyes dance under his lids as he tries to force them open.

The king finally opens his eyes. Gold meets gold in a room worth more than the city itself. “Ah, you look the same. Look just as much like me in ways I’d not like to admit, and yet, I’ve denied you.” Of what, who can say but the man who makes the rules? The man sighs, continuing breathlessly, “I would ask for forgiveness, but I’m not naive enough to believe I deserve it.”

Kentarou says nothing, though his thin string of patience is pulled taut, preventing him from stopping the scoff that escapes him at the apparent holier-than-thou attitude of the king.

The king doesn’t notice. The king’s brows furrow, shifting, rearranging the thoughts in his head. His words are rushed, nonsensical whispers, as if he’s not even talking to Kentarou, as if he’s rehearsing an old public address. “The anger you hold leads only to ruin... Speaking as a man, not as a king, I urge you not to succumb to it… we can overcome this as a  collective people…” The man’s ramblings are abruptly silenced when he descends into a coughing fit.

Kentarou feels the last of his restraint snap, worn away over the course of two decades. His fists are clenched so tightly his skin breaks, and he snaps, “Stop talking in riddles, and stop trying to run away!”

He’s trying to go back to times greater than now, and Kentarou won’t allow it. _Face it. Face what you’ve created, and fall to the deepest depths of hell for it._

The king doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’s using all his energy to cough, clearing his throat of words that can’t be displaced, that he needs to say but has buried under mountains of political jargon and falsified pleasantries.

Kentarou waits to be acknowledged, as is his custom. He pulls up a chair sitting nearby and waits next to the king’s bedside. He watches the fit subside, sees the deep inhales and exhales. He wonders what kind of person he is for his indifference.

“Apologies. I lost myself for a moment. My illness makes it a bit difficult to keep up with things now and then, you understand.” His voice is quiet again, though whether he’s intentionally aiming for pity isn’t entirely clear. The man is just tired, weary and resigned as he says, “Would you believe me if I said I’ve practiced this as often as I could? I’d pictured this conversation progressing in a smoother manner, though I suppose my nerves got the best of me. They don’t exactly teach young princes how to speak with an illegitimate son in court lessons.”

Kentarou grits his teeth, “They shouldn’t have to. Human decency is common sense.”

The king huffs out a breath, “Yes, well, you’ll find people in positions such as mine don’t think as much.”

The king shifts slightly on the bed, turning his head to face Kentarou. He can’t move the rest of his body, the IV’s stuck in his arms and other cords or tubes leading under the blanket covering his lower half making it clear. The man looks him in the eye completely, despite the obvious effort it takes to do so. He appears reluctant when he speaks, “Before I say anything else, I’d like to ask that you try not to lash out too much, at least until I’ve finished speaking. There’s a high chance I won’t ever be able to say this if it’s not done now.” When Kentarou doesn’t reply, the man continues, “It’s just- they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and yours… they boil. They’re hatred and anger simmering in a pot of gold.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

A wry smile, “No apology I can give you would ever be enough. My only aim here is to acknowledge my faults, and try to do at least one thing right by you. Call it an old man’s wish for a better future, if you will.”

He won’t. “Stop all the cryptic crap and just tell me what you mean.”

The king takes a minute to allow himself to look up and down Kentarou. His eyes, _Kentarou’s eyes,_ rove over his as if he’s seeing the boy who grew up polishing floors for the very first time. When his gaze returns to Kentarou’s face, he starts before he catches himself. “I-I assume you’ve heard some of the rumors surrounding your… mother?”

He nods numbly, feels his fists clench from where they are on his knees. The hesitation on the last word is telling enough.

The king exhales deeply, “I thought as much. The simplest way to begin would obviously be with her. She was the catalyst, after all. The person who changed all that mattered with my headspace. I must warn you though, the facts I’m going to relay onto you aren’t going to be what you want to hear. Are you sure you’d-”

“Just… get on with it.”

A dry chuckle, a short cough. “I see. I suppose I’ll start at the beginning, which would be her arrival at the palace. Contrary to any tales of forlorn love and infidelity, your mother’s situation was very straightforward.” The king folds his hands over his chest, mumbling as he relives his greatest shame, “She snuck into my quarters, put some foreign drug in my whiskey, waited in the shadows for me to fall, and stole my essence before anything could be done.”

Kentarou is almost tempted to make a quip about giving the terms crown jewels a new meaning, but holds his tongue, fearing the inevitable cracking of his voice.

Realizing Kentarou won’t have anything to add, the king loses himself in his memories, voice turning emotionless as he persists, “An investigation was started at once of course. Although it was never discovered how she managed to infiltrate the palace in the first palace, her whereabouts took priority. There was no telling what she would do with a child of my blood. Extortion, blackmail, a coup. Any number of threats, all looming over the horizon the longer she remained a mystery. My wife played a key role in the investigation- she has a set interest in the capture and punishment of the, uh, thief would be the easiest term to use.”

The king pulls the blanket higher on himself, hands shaking until be allows them to drop back down abruptly, “And search we did. It took an entire year after the initial theft to figure out the woman’s identity. She was elusive. A shadow with the trust of all who live with her in the darkness buried in the depths of the city. She was originally from the lower income district of the capital before she moved to a port city in the South. Apparently she worked with a certain organization for quite a while. Dubbed as Heretics by the church, Seers by the people.”

Kentarou feels his neck throb at that, though he forces himself to stay still at the flare of heat raging underneath his skin.

He supposes he should feel at least slightly better about the woman. She may have been a shit tier person, but she seemed to have been decent to some people at one point. Unfortunate that the energy she expended causing mass paranoia and being an overall asshole wasn’t spared for the one person who would’ve loved her unconditionally if she’d given him a chance.

“Other than her religious ideologies, she was deemed an unimposing threat to the country as a whole. At the time, our biggest concern was bringing her into the custody of the guard in order to properly charge her. But when we figured out where she was and what she was trying to do-”

“What was she doing?”

“... Are you positive you want to know?”

No. “Yes?” What’s one more lie to a jester?

“She was trying to kill you.”

At first, Kentarou feels nothing. It’s just a statement of fact, after all. Nothing to be done about it. But then the implication sets in, and then he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs anymore. He can breathe in and out, can hold his breath as long as he wants, but there isn’t nearly enough getting past the boulder that’s lodged itself into his throat.

The king carries on as if he hasn’t ripped out the last speck of hope left in his body, “We still don’t know anything about the specifics. By the time you were found the ritual was near completion, chanting in a language long forgotten, cultists in black garbs surrounding an infant on an altar. Those who couldn’t manage to escape killed themselves before they could be detained and questioned, your mother included.” The king sighs, and if he’d had the strength, would probably pinch the bridge of his nose, “The day you were brought back here to be raised in the palace was the day I had the biggest fight I’d ever had with my wife and my retainers.”

Kentarou doesn’t doubt it. She clearly hates him, though he’d have been better off not knowing it was because of something that doesn’t have anything to do with him. At least if it were because he was a bastard he could claim an ounce of self-importance.

“It truly was safer for you to be here. The court argued you should be sent off to live in the South where we could keep an eye on you from a distance, but Mizuki said it opened the door for any rising political dissidents to plan an uprising within our territories. No, she told them you would live here, and that was the end of that. It was too needlessly cruel to do anything else.”

“Is this supposed to make me like her? Respect her? Don’t act like she wasn’t the one who made my life hell just because she made me stay here.”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m fairly sure telling you has made you dislike her more.”

Kentarou waves him on.

The king grimaces, as if remembering is as tiring as the day itself, “I love my wife, but Mizuki is too set in her ways. Everything has to be done the way she bids it or the entire kingdom suffers.” Kentarou wants to ask what that means, but the king locks eyes with him again, “She knew it was safer for me to have you live here, but she was undeniably sure it was the opposite for Tooru. I tried to convince her it would be avoided if you were raised as equals with no shred of resentment, but she wouldn’t hear of it. It was too improper for you two to grow up as royalty when only one of you had a claim to the title.”

And so it was, and so it was.

Still though.

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it. You could’ve done it anyway if you really cared all that much.”

The king pauses, studying Kentarou. After a moment of pensive silence, he smiles wryly, “I don’t pretend to have done what’s best for you, but if I must do so to alleviate my wife’s conscience, I will.”

“At the expense of you son?”

“At the expense of my son.”

“I never asked to be born, you know. If you couldn’t figure out how to do what was best for a fucking infant, you should’ve offed me when you had the chance.”

“I should have. But I couldn’t. Tooru begged for a brother, but Mizuki couldn’t give him one, not after her accident.”

Kentarou stands up from his chair so fast it topples over, "So you kept me here to be the prince's toy?! Do other people matter so little to you that you-"

"No, it's because they matter that I kept you here. Tooru needed to grow up knowing that he's as much of a human as everyone else."

"That still makes me some tool."

The king doesn't even address that, and Kentarou's neck flares again, "Mizuki didn't hate you. It wasn't anything about you she specifically disliked aside from the circumstances under which we found you, which is mainly the situation involving your mother's crimes. Being a mother herself, she couldn't bring herself to throw you out, but she had to do what was best for Tooru."

And if Kentarou had to suffer for it, who is he to tell her she's wrong? Who is he but the bastard of a batshit cultist? Who is he but a boy raised in the West Wing purely out of obligation?

**You're human.**

He is. And it's not fair that everyone forgets that.

Like sucks. It snaps its jaws at people who don't provoke it and gives a free pass to those that do.

Kentarou turns around to pick up his chair, falling into it heavily as he buries his face into his hands. His neck is burning just as intensely as it has been the first time, but he doesn't care anymore.

The king says something Kentarou doesn't catch and tries to hide it behind a hacking cough as he resumes, "Earlier, I spoke to you about hope for a better future when I was referring to the anger I saw. It's because I've seen what it does to people. It'll change you, lead you to paths of unfulfilling reprieve from the resentment you hold. You can't give in to the temptation. You're too much like-"

"I don't wanna hear it." It's not like he's saying it for Kentarou's benefit. It's for his wife. It's for his real son. It's for the conscience of a husk of a once great leader trying to lay out all his sins before he succumbs to the world he held himself above.

"Alright then. You're entitled to silence. All I ask is that you stay."

"Shouldn't you be calling in the prince? Feeding him some secret family bullshit?"

"I've spent that last twenty five years doing that. From the moment he was born, Tooru's been preparing for this nonstop. I would have my final hours spent with the last Kyoutani."

"Who's Kyoutani?"

"Ah… he was my best friend, and my greatest enemy. I will mourn his death, even when I leave this world. Your namesake is his legacy. Carry it, not for me, but for him."

Kentarou pauses, considering, "As long as it's not for you."

"Thank you."

Kentarou sits in that uncomfortable chair, watches the king's eyes flit around under his lids, and waits.

He waits until the sun slowly sets over the horizon, as the sky transforms from baby blue to pinks to a violent tirade of orange and scarlet and red.

He waits until Takao opens his eyes one last time, gold meeting gold, as he breathes a final, "My boy…"

He waits until gold turns to bronze to finally leave.

As soon as Kentarou steps one foot out the door, doctors and physicians and the queen and Tooru brush past him

Kentarou returns to the West Wing. When he opens his drawer to store his keys for the night, the dominoes weigh heavy when he shuts it.

The next morning, His Majesty Oikawa Takao is pronounced dead.

Kentarou is personally summoned to the scheduled funeral by the new king, shadowed by his personal bodyguard Iwaizumi Hajime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A funeral.


End file.
